


This Old Darkness

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Drunk Sex, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet for the first time when it seems like they’ve met many times before. Neither of them is sure why they’re doing this, but they know they need it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Old Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my Advent fics, written for thrilladdict’s prompt: Harry/Draco Hurt/Comfort and First Time with DrunkLonely!Harry and CrossdressingTroubled!Draco. I think the fic fulfills both spirit and letter of the prompt, though with perhaps more hurt than comfort until the very end.

  
“This is it.”  
  
Harry kept his voice low as he flicked the light on. It was a Muggle light, the way this was a Muggle flat, and he knew what Malfoy would think of it, could almost feel the words boiling up behind his teeth.  
  
Except, when he turned around, Malfoy was standing there in the fucking _dress_ that Harry had first seen him at the pub in. It floated around him, as white as a bride’s dress, with a long skirt and a bodice that…Harry had never been able to decide in the pub, and he couldn’t even now with his brighter light on, if there were little bows and decorations worked into the cloth there, or not.  
  
He knew that it made Malfoy look _strange._ Not weird, which would have been the first word Harry used if someone described Malfoy in a dress to him. But strange, displaced, moving around in a different sort of world. Harry found himself looking into Malfoy’s eyes and finding them pale instead of grey. Not any color, just pale.  
  
“You’re a bit pissed,” Malfoy said. His voice was colorless, like his eyes. He took off the small jacket he’d wrapped around his shoulders to keep the cold off and hung it up on a hook, looking at Harry all the while. The flat wasn’t much to look at, Harry supposed. Plain white walls and plain white floor and a small kitchen off to the side.  
  
The bedroom was behind that.  
  
Harry licked his lips, and licked them again. He wondered if he’d left dirty clothes lying on the floor, dirty blankets lying on the bed. It seemed likely he had. He didn’t know what to do about that. “More than a bit,” he ended up saying, because it was the only thing that made sense.  
  
And Malfoy just nodded seriously, as if it made more sense than Harry knew, and then moved forwards, putting his mouth up to be kissed.  
  
It was so _obvious_ that that was what he was doing, Harry just went with it. He leaned down and kissed Malfoy, finding his lips dry and sweet. Well, he’d been eating biscuits out of a basket he brought with him, and hadn’t stopped even when Harry sat down next to him and tried to talk to him about Hogwarts. In fact, he hadn’t wanted to talk about Hogwarts at all, just shrugged and kicked his heels out, spreading the dress as if to draw attention to his thin body beneath it.  
  
Malfoy’s hands closed on his shoulders, and Harry reminded himself, again, that the person he was thinking about was right here in front of him, and probably resented being totally dismissed. He closed his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders right back, and then hesitated, aware of the thin fabric of the dress crumpling beneath them.  
  
“Oh, _fuck_ it,” Malfoy said, and did some kind of complicated twist and motion, which probably involved his wand, that Vanished the dress. Harry blinked as he got a look at what Malfoy wore beneath it: these sheer _things_ on his legs that Harry couldn’t name, and a dab of makeup here and there, color on his arms, as though it was more important to smooth down and powder up the things someone else couldn’t see.  
  
Malfoy gave his head a toss, his face still glinting and strange, though that might be because of the glow of powder on his cheekbones, and his hair, Harry noticed for the first time, styled in this unearthly way that made it short from the back but longer from the front, and with a bit of curl to it. “Are we doing this or not?” Malfoy snapped.  
  
Harry looked at the scars on Malfoy’s chest—longer, darker, deeper than the ones that would have come from the _Sectumsempra_ Curse—and nodded. He was hungry, for the first time in a long time, for something other than the love he couldn’t find. Maybe this would be all right, for just one night. Maybe it would satisfy the craving.  
  
He moved forwards and wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s waist, kneeling down in front of him. Malfoy shuddered and shut his eyes, and didn’t look when Harry took his cock out of its complicated packaging, a wrap of cloth that Harry suspected concealed the bulge better than just women’s clothes would have.  
  
He didn’t know what Malfoy wanted, who he was. He didn’t know why he was wearing this, or why it _attracted_ Harry to him instead of drove him away, or why he had decided that tonight of all nights was the time to break his personal rule about not having sex just because he wanted it.  
  
But it was okay, it was all right, and if Malfoy wanted to conceal his cock he didn’t seem to be ashamed of it; he was groaning and moaning above Harry right now, spreading his legs and thrusting it forwards. Harry carefully licked his teeth, hoping to remove of some of the mustiness of the alcohol, and then leaned forwards and took it into his mouth.  
  
Malfoy thrust deep at once, and never did let Harry up. Harry just rode with it, his body still limp and relaxed enough from the alcohol that Malfoy never needed to stop to keep from choking him. His mouth was open, the strings of saliva running down the sides of his cheeks, and Malfoy moaned as if it was the best thing he’d ever felt.  
  
Harry gazed up at him. From this angle, Malfoy was even stranger, because Harry could see the stubble on his chin and the way that he’d carefully scraped it away from his throat, how he wore no false breasts but the light scratches from the strained bodice were still on his skin, how the scars ran around Malfoy in lines and at angles that Harry knew from experience would be difficult for an attacker to do to you unless they held you down—  
  
Malfoy cursed and tugged him up. Harry rose, letting Malfoy spill out of his mouth so that he could go on looking. There was a scar on Malfoy’s chin, too, and he reached out and scrubbed it up and down with his finger.  
  
Malfoy cursed again and said, “We’re going to bed.” And he turned and hauled Harry there, and Harry tried his best to help, although he still stumbled because he couldn’t help it.  
  
Harry’s bed was the same as always, small and cotton-sheeted and dusty, but Malfoy acted as though he didn’t notice any of that. He threw Harry on the bed and gestured at his clothes. “Take them off.”  
  
Harry did, while Malfoy just watched him. Harry nodded at the silk things on his legs. “Aren’t you going to take—those off?” He didn’t want to reveal that he didn’t know the name. Malfoy’s eyes had narrowed enough with the way he stumbled over his words.  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed further. “I never do.”  
  
Harry just had time to murmur some apology before Malfoy leaned over and kissed him. It was burning, bright, best, bursting, and Harry hummed and opened his mouth, and Malfoy climbed on top of him, smushing him into the bed and driving all the breath out of his lungs.  
  
Malfoy was always _there_ , it seemed, on top him and shifting around like a python just when Harry had got comfortable, as heavy and as awkward. The silk things on his legs scratched, and when he lay down on top of Harry and arranged himself so that his cock was pointing more or less the right direction, his scars scratched. Harry craned his head back to breathe, and Malfoy jerked his head away, frowning.  
  
“Your breath is _foul_ , Potter.”  
  
Harry muttered some apology and picked up his wand. Malfoy lay back down, muttering, and Harry cast a quick Freshening Charm on his breath and then reached for the bedroom table. He’d had lube in there, the last time he looked. Not that he brought home men that often, but sometimes his hand needed the company.  
  
There was silence between them as Malfoy prepared him, and Harry occupied it with staring at his scars. He jumped when Malfoy glanced up and caught him at it. Malfoy just shook his head and exhaled heavily, as though Harry was annoying him more than he’d expected with the way he couldn’t stop staring.  
  
“Not all of them are from the war,” he said.  
  
“I know,” Harry said, and then clamped his mouth shut, because the look Malfoy was giving him told him too well that he knew nothing, at all.  
  
Malfoy’s fingers were slick when they slid into him, but not comfortable. They went too deep to be comfortable, and they were too long, and Harry fussed under his breath and Malfoy told him to hush. But they were there, and Harry at last closed his eyes and relaxed around them.  
  
Predictably, that got him pinched on the cheek by Malfoy. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, rising above Harry and positioning himself all over again. “I don’t fancy being with someone who doesn’t want to _see_ me.”  
  
Harry would have said something, but Malfoy slid into him, and he lost the breath to say anything, at all.  
  
Malfoy was like a dancer when he fucked, and some of that had to do with the glitter on his cheeks and the curled hair and some didn’t. There was his grace, and Harry reached up and cupped his hip, remembering his grace on a broom at Hogwarts and wanting to steal some of that for himself. It seemed most of the time that there was no grace left to him, not here, not now.  
  
He realized he was crying, tears sliding down his cheeks, and Malfoy hissed at him again and bent down to kiss him. His mouth was fresher than Harry’s, cool, salty. Harry kissed him again and again until Malfoy pulled back and shuddered.  
  
That was what made Harry come, and he did it in utter surprise, thrusting up and back down again, making the bed creak and rock, and Malfoy flop on top of him. He didn’t think he had even been touched on the cock. But with someone like Malfoy, that didn’t matter.  
  
Malfoy pulled out of him. Harry curled up, ready for Malfoy to leave. They all did, everyone he brought home.  
  
But Malfoy only pushed at him until he uncurled again, which made Harry think that he must be lying on top of a piece of Malfoy’s clothing. Instead, Malfoy grumbled at him and closed his eyes, saying tiredly, “I’m going to stay the night, and your breath is going to be fresh and your face is going to be _dry_ when I wake up in the morning.”  
  
Harry blinked at him, and reached out to touch Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy shoved into him like a cat impatient to be petted. Harry did it, for a while, until Malfoy pointedly reached down and tugged the blankets up over them, binding Harry’s hand to his side and making him stop.  
  
Harry curled up next to him and blinked some more.  
  
Everyone left. Ginny had, and the boyfriend he’d had after her, and then the next girlfriend, and then Cho, when they made that disastrous attempt to get back together. It was just the way things were. Harry would wake up the darkness after fucking and know it for old and familiar—not a friend, but an acquaintance so well-known that he could no longer mistake the shape of it.  
  
But this…  
  
Harry looked down, and saw another scar he hadn’t noticed before on Malfoy’s softened, slack face, this one curving around his right ear and up. It looked like the marks of teeth, if teeth chewed in a perfectly half-circular shape.  
  
Harry reached down and petted Malfoy’s hair again, then reached up to his own lips and felt the lipstick on them.  
  
This could be all right.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
